


In the Dark

by Avelyesqe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I APOLOGIZE, Kind of angsty, Kind of fluffly, M/M, SO, THIS IS NOT WHAT I HAD INTENDED TO WRITE, also it's kind of bad, also note that enjolras is like mentioned, and that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelyesqe/pseuds/Avelyesqe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes even the most eloquent have their moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

Jehan quietly sat in front of his mirror slowly unbraiding his hair. It was night, but he would swear that the stars weren’t there a moment ago—it seemed as if he has just said hello to the sun as it rose above the horizon to start the day. His room was quiet and dark. He had only left the light on his bedside table on, which, as opposed to actually illuminating his room, only served to cast shadows over his bed. But Jehan didn’t mind the dark or the quiet.

  
He did mind, however, the call he had gotten from his father an hour ago, a conversation that was both brief and painfully long. It wasn’t that he and his father didn’t get along, but rather that they were so different that any attempt of communication between them ended in uncomfortable silences. These conversations always saddened Jehan. As he really loved his father, his inability to communicate _anything_ , let alone any notion of familial affection, to his father left him downtrodden. He couldn’t bear being unable to express the love he felt.

 

Courfeyrac cracked the door open and the light from the other rooms slipped in and illuminated Jehan’s face. Upon seeing Jehan’s face dampened with tears, Courfeyrac immediately moved to him and closed the door behind them and Jehan turned to face him.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing,” Jehan started “I’m being silly.”  
  
“I doubt that,” Courfeyrac said as he took a seat next to Jehan on the vanity bench and wrapped his arms around the poet’s waist. Jehan’s shoulder cradled his head as they sat there without exchanging a single word. But the room wasn’t silent, as Courfeyrac could hear (and feel) Jehan weeping. But he didn’t say anything; he knew Jehan would speak up when he wanted to.  
  
“I just—It’s hard—“ Jehan said while Courfeyrac gently traced shapes into his legs. “I’m supposed to be this poet, right? I’m supposed to be able to effectively and eloquently communicate everything. But, I can’t. Not with him. It’s hard and I can’t figure out why. This is supposed to be easy, Courf. He’s my _father_ , not some stranger from off the street. If I can’t even tell him I love him how am I supposed to be able to say it to anyone else?”

 

Courfeyrac was no stranger to insecurity. Being the so-called center came with its moments of doubts; moments when he felt as if all of his friends were drifting away, and it was up to him to keep them together and happy. But Jehan’s pain stemmed from something more personal, not that he was letting everyone go, letting them all slip away when they had trusted him to keep them together, but that he was letting himself down, failing to meet the standards he had accidently decided on long ago and has since lived by.

  
Courfeyrac loosened his grip on the shaking poet as he viciously grabbed and crumpled the papers that had been sitting on the vanity. “Th-these words are supposed to make sense and flow and— I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.” He had stopped shaking, which Coufeyrac took as a good sign, so he let go of Jehan and quickly smoothed the crumpled poems (no doubt addressed to his father. Everything he had wanted to say, but couldn’t), but he said nothing. Jehan didn’t need him to say anything, and he wasn’t nearly as talented with language as Jehan was. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or wasn’t trying, but he instead let his arms around his waist and gentle caresses comfort him.   
  
And that was all Jehan needed; to know he was there, to know he was listening. He leaned back into Courfeyrac’s arms and closed his eyes. They sat there in silence and let their synchronized breathing be the only thing they could hear.

 

After what seemed like hours, Courf laid a gentle kiss on Jehan’s forehead. “You need to get some rest. Goodnight,” he said as he started to pull away, but Jehan quickly grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, unwilling to let any of the darkness of his room separate him from his love. He looked into Courfeyrac’s gentle eyes: open, honest, everything he needed right now. He gently pressed his lips to the other man’s and barely moved far enough apart to whisper

 

_“I’m going to braid my hair_

_Braid many colors into my hair_

_I’ll put a long braid in my hair_

_And write your name there”_

Courfeyrac responded with a smile before quickly taking Jehan into his arms and pressing gentle kisses into his skin like his poor poet might fall apart if he didn’t.   
  
It was late and they were starting to drift into sleep, the quiet of the room lulling them into a separate peace from the rest of the house.

 

The light on the bedside table was never turned off.   
The would deal with Enjolras’ rage when he found them the next morning, a tangle of arms and legs still sitting on the vanity bench. 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem is an except from  
> Duende by Tracy K. Smith  
> And just a forewarning it's really not all that happy of a poem at all.


End file.
